


Skaia Bound

by Achama



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:55:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achama/pseuds/Achama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider was living in a dark dying world finally a little simple push from Fate finally sets things moving again. Going off to try his luck on Skaia what is in store for our hero? Only time will tell.</p><p>A Western Au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skaia Bound

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Dustbowl Dance by Mumford and sons one day and I was really inspired to write this. 
> 
> I really like Dave I think he's an interesting character. Sorry if I butcher him. I hope you'll still enjoy the story though.
> 
> As for where the story is heading. I'm really not to sure. So I guess, you'll all get to see where my whim takes me. I hope it's not too awful though!
> 
> Other then that I guess I don't really write long chapters but I do write pretty long stories. So I hope you'll stick around.  
> _______

_All it took to give him that final push was a single sheet of paper brought on by luck and a gust of wind. He had been waiting for as long as he could remember for something, for some reason to leave and finally, just a simple sheet of paper announcing ‘new hope’ and listing departure times had done the trick. Was he too easily swayed? Was leaving a rash decision? He wasn’t entirely sure. It’s not as though there was any other path for him to take. It was either death here or leaving. And in the end, he found that he couldn’t choose death._

The land he lived in stunk of death. The stale, cold wind blew carrying dust and feathers. Silence permeating the land, even the sound of molten lava had gradually ceased. And no matter how bitter or angry any one was there seemed no way to save the land because the Denizen of the land was dead.  


No one knew what had caused Hephaestus’ death, however as surely as his death, the planet that he regented was also slowly dying.

Starvation quickly afflicted the land and inevitably even the consorts slowly started to die off. In an effort to save themselves they clamoured on the interplanetary rails and migrated to other planets. If there was no hope on their planet then surely they could create new hope somewhere else was the general consensus. Now all that was left were the crows. And even they were dying.

Oil lamp in hand he left the safety of the shack he called home to stand on the porch and survey his ‘kingdom’. The dust, the feathers, the cold, the dark was all that was left to ‘rule’. He was the only one left. Well, if there was anyone else he had yet to meet them. He let out a derisive laugh as if to dispel the silence. He looked up at the roof of his porch, like everything else it was in a state of disrepair, the shingles had started to fall and while he had more than ample material to fix it he simply couldn’t be bothered. It would just fall apart again. 

He heard something flutter nearby; he raised his lamp to meet the arrival, “Caw, caw,” one of the crows called out in answer. They peered at him with their beady black eyes, the food shortage leaving them looking mangy and thin. He glared at them, as if daring them to challenge him to a strife. But other than flap their wings and caw they did nothing but stare at him.

“You can’t do anything but caw can you?” he sneered. A flock of them had been gathering near his house since the slow death of the planet. Awaiting his death, perhaps, it felt like a challenge. Who would be the last to live on this desolate planet? So far, things seemed to be going in his favour but his food supply was dwindling by the day and there was only so many places he could raid till finally there was nothing left to take.

As if on cue, the patter of something falling on the ground was heard. He slowly walked towards the fallen body. It was his daily refrain. The only break in the monotony and darkness; he stood in front of the corpse for a moment it wasn’t that he felt particularly attached to dying crows but in this somber land they were his only remaining companions. He knelt down and picked up the small body and as usual brought it to the back of the house.

Rows and rows of crosses littered what had once been a fertile field. He grabbed the shovel that was leaning against the wall, waiting for him. One day it would be his turn to be buried here he knew. But there would be no one to pick up the shovel. He hummed to himself, another ‘spell’ to disturb the silence and the death that threatened to suffocate him. He found an empty spot on the arid field and began to dig. Another day, another makeshift cross to place. “… Amen” he whispered as he finished burying the crow. He wasn’t particularly religious, but it always felt like the appropriate thing to say.

With nothing left to do, nowhere left to go he slowly headed back to the sanctity of his weather-worn shack. He knew he should leave this place, there was nothing left but death and decay, but he was at a standstill. He felt like a broken record skipping on one note, over and over and over again. 

He was waiting for something, for someone. If someone had asked he would have denied it. _“A Strider waits for no one”_ he would say. But it was a lie. He was waiting. It seemed like he had been waiting forever. For someone he knew wasn’t going to return. But knowing that he wasn’t coming back didn’t seem to make leaving any easier. Every day he told himself ‘now is a good time to go’ and yet all he could do was return to his home eat the same stale tasting canned food and wait.  
He sat on the rocking chair on the porch, the only thing he had bothered to maintain in a decent condition. It had been his favourite place as a child slowly watching the bleeding sun dim in the horizon after a long day on the land, resting after a strife, they hadn’t needed to have long unending discussions, the connection was there even without the words.

Rocking gently he watched the nothing that lay ahead listening to the echoing wind and the flapping wings. “I’ll be waitin’ till I die won’t I?” he said to no one in particular, a bitter smile on his face. As if to reply a crow cawed and the echo of a whistling train was heard in the distance.

He looked up surprised by the sound. It had been weeks since the last train and he had thought that none would come again. After all, there was nothing left here. What use was there for a train to head here? He heard another caw “I ain’t leavin’,” he said, as though the crow had been prompting him to leave. Even in the height of departures he hadn’t really wanted to leave. A part of him still clung to the hope that the person he was waiting for would come back. Every cross in the yard was a sordid reminder that his hope was unlikely to be realized.

The crows flapped their wings raising a ruckus, he stood up and glared at them, “Quit your cawin’ all of ya! I’m not leavin’ I said!” his voice sounds ragged, it had been a while since he had spoken this loudly. If he left it meant he had given up didn’t it? Leaving felt like he would be letting something important die. 

“I can’t leave. Don’t ya all understand?” he looked at them as if to try and get them to understand. They looked at him impassively. He glared at them, a part of him wanted to skewer them, get rid of their judgmental gaze. But he couldn’t lift his sword to do so. They were right. He was letting himself waste away. But he didn’t know how to push himself forward.

The wind picked up again the train’s whistle sounding out in the distance again, perhaps announcing its departure. And as if Fate was making one last plea, the wind which had thus only brought feathers and dust brought him a flier. The sound of paper surprised him as it was pushed by the wind battering against the porch’s railing. He picked up the rubbish giving it a cursory glance. 

Indeed it was an old crumpled flier. “People of LOHAC for a short time only use the interplanetary railways to head to new adventure and new hope. Free one way trip to the destination of your choice for a limited time only.” he had seen them many times before when the planet had still had some people left. It seemed to have been a way to attract clientele. It had worked naturally, no one wanted to stay here. But he had ignored it. The countless fliers he had amassed had served as fuel for the fire.

A crow cawed. “… a last chance ya think?” he asked, though of course other then caw the crows said nothing. The last train was departing tomorrow according to the flier. It really was his last chance. If he stayed, he was sealing his own tomb. Was this what he wanted? What he had been waiting for all along? Perhaps? After all, there wasn’t much reason to live when you were forsaken right?

No. 

No. 

He didn’t really want to die. If that had really been the case, he could have just let himself die. He could have killed himself easily, this planet when it had been livelier was wrought with dangers, one wrong move and it was easy to find yourself dead.

It was easy to not put any effort in living. It was easy to waste away. He had been doing a good job of it so far.

But he didn’t really want to end this way. He hadn’t put effort in getting up every morning to simply end like this had he?

Faced with death and a slowly closing exit, he realized, he didn’t want to be alone; he didn’t want to die in this place, surrounded by nothing but silence and crows. “… I guess. I really couldn’t wait forever after all.” He said. To himself, or to the crows? He wasn’t really sure, over the years, who he was talking to had become less distinct. 

But could he really do this? Leave this house, leave this graveyard? A part of him had always expected to die here. A part of himself had resigned to this fate, accepted it. But, the larger part of him, urged on by the cawing, dying crows and that flier, needed to leave. Even if leaving meant he had to abandon the memories he had clung on to so tightly.

Besides, a part of him wanted to believe that dying here wasn’t the fate his brother would have wanted for him, needed to believe this in fact. Yes, he needed to believe that his brother didn’t want him to die and if the one person that he had always seen as an idol, as a god had forsaken him… then he would be paralyzed. Like had been all this time. Yes, the thought that he had been forsaken by the one person he cared for had paralyzed him, left him in a rut. But finally, he realized he couldn’t take this final step off the cliff. He didn’t want to die. Even if he was forsaken, forgotten, hated, he didn’t want to die.

He went into his tiny shack, looking at the piles of plush rump dolls lying about, the piece of wiring and musical instruments, the piles of things that had accumulated over the years and given colour to his childhood, he couldn’t bring any of it with him. Finally he realized he needed to give himself the chance to live again. A clean slate. It was the only way he could live right? Grabbing some clothes and the few boonbucks he had left lying around and his cherished sword, he put everything in a bundle and left his safe haven. 

The road to the train was long and dark and if he really wanted to give himself a chance he couldn’t miss his train right? “Well, a Strider doesn’t wait for anyone right? I guess it’s time I make that sayin’ true.” With that last good bye Dave Strider walked away.


End file.
